


Lemon Honey Turmeric

by Sapphire_Ruby



Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Gen, Time traveler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-01-03 17:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21183215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphire_Ruby/pseuds/Sapphire_Ruby
Summary: A stranger calling himself Jameson showed up at Chase's door step. He was sick though, and must have been hallucinating. Kept calling Chase his brother Charles. No one besides Chase's grandfather, Charles, ever called him that. But there's no way this stranger knew that. Come to think of it though, grandpa Charles would sometimes talk about having a brother, Jameson.





	1. Lemon Honey Turmeric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: sick, blood

“Just–” He couldn’t even get started without being interrupted by a cough. The soaked napkin he held in a death grip was back in front of his mouth. It was a full minute this time before it finally ceased and he could lie back down.

“This isn’t normal,” Chase tried to convince him. “I’ll be with you the entire time, but you need to go see–”

“No!” The strain made him cough up some more. Once his hand was down, Chase noticed that the napkin was splattered with a new layer of rouge. “I told you... no doctors.” His voice was so hoarse, but he insisted on talking. “It’s just... just a cold...” Chase took the washcloth from the side of the bed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Lemon honey turmeric,” he breathed out heavily, his eyes closing. “You know the doctors are all hogwash Charles.” His chest was heaving now, trying desperately to get air into his lungs. “Left Henry paralyzed...” Wheezing. “And killed Martin with their chemicals.” Another wave of coughs. Bad enough that Chase could feel them in his own chest. No way this was only a cold. “No... Just the naturals... lemon honey turmeric...” Those herbs were like an affirmation to him by now.

“Alright Jameson, I’ll get you some more of them. Just drink your tea.” Chase brought the mug full of now lukewarm herbal tea up to the poor man’s mouth. He was able to take a sip before being rocked back by the fight going on in his lungs.

Chase stood up, leaving the door slightly ajar so Jameson could have some light in his room. No matter how much he protested, he needed to see a doctor. And by the looks of it, maybe a hospital.

Chase went into the kitchen, far enough away so that Jameson couldn’t hear him. He called an ambulance, something he should have done days ago. A stranger shows up at his home — no, someone who was almost his doppleganger — claiming to know him, or rather, Charles, his grandfather. He should’ve called the police when he showed up, but something about him was so.... familiar. Couldn’t just leave him alone. And for the first day, it was nice just to have someone around the house.

Coughing echoed through the house as he finished his call with the 911 operator. Hopefully he didn’t wait too long. Even if this guy was crazy, <strike>or by some crazy magic he was telling the truth</strike>, Chase couldn’t take another loss in his life.


	2. A Whisper in the Wind

The cemetery was familiar. Some things never changed, even over a century. It was greener though, well taken care of. And that old oak tree was there, now towering over everything else. It reminded him of the day they had to bury Martin. It still stung; it was only three years ago. The family couldn’t afford much, only a name plate, but at least it was something.

Chase... Jameson had asked him if he wanted to come with him, but... maybe cemeteries were too morbid for this generation. He told Jameson that he should take all the time he needed, that he’d wait for him out at the front gates.

The granite was slightly sunk into the ground, and the elements had worn down some of the engraving. But it still read the words at least. Martin Moran. August 11, 1902 – January 16, 1919.

...

...

Chase had said there were other graves too. Looking around, Jameson found them all too easily. Same last name. Rose Moran, March 2, 1892 – November 5, 1935. Michael Moran, February 27, 1934 – August 14, 1937. William Moran, May 23, 1926 – March 6, 1945. And that was it. No other brothers besides Martin. Rose... that was the name of the girl that Charles had been courting. Looks like he married her. And Jameson had at least two nephews. William’s grave was different from the others; he had a proper tombstone and not the small patch of rock and metal. Sad really that he was the only one.

Jameson went back over to Martin. He wanted to talk, but that was impossible at this point. Laying a hand on the stone, Jameson just thought, thought as loud as he could so Martin could hear him.

“ _ It’s been a while since I’ve seen you Martin. For both of us I suppose. I would recount all that I’ve been doing, but sadly, I cannot. My vocal cords are paralyzed, just as Henry’s legs were. I suppose he must be up there with you after all this time. I hope he is having an easier time than he was during his life. And Charles must be there as well, the rapscallion. Not causing too much trouble I pray. _

_ “The most remarkable thing happened to me though, Martin. I have somehow been thrust forward through time near a century. And I have found Charles’s grandson. His name is Chase Brody and he seems like a fine lad. Has that same spunk Charles did. I can see it sometimes. It’s only been a small time, but it seems like we are getting along well. I wish I could tell him of the grandiose adventures we all had. But he has a job that he must attend for long hours, and has little energy by the end of it all. Sometimes I care for him, like I would care for you or Henry. The tea blends to cure ailments and help with rest and relaxation. _

_ “I am grateful that he has even opened up his home to me. To him, I must be a complete stranger, but I really do think of him as family, Martin. Perhaps I am naive, as always with my affections. But there is something in him that I cannot place. Something... like I have known him through his whole life. Mayhaps he is more like Charles than I thought. _

_ “But, I am looking forward to getting to know him. If I can figure it out, I would also like to try and find others. Charles always did want a large family, so I know he must have had kids, and they, in turn, families of their own. I wish you could be here with me through this Martin. You always did know how to brighten a room just by walking in.” _ Water fell from Jameson’s face toward the ground, some drops landing on his hand. He didn’t want to leave, but there was no more for him to tell.  _ “I will see you again, brother,” _ he ended, patting the stone to say a final goodbye. Pushing against the ground, he stood up slowly and looked back at the other family he’d never get to know.  _ “I wish I would have gotten the chance to know you too," _ he sighed, longing for the life he knew.


End file.
